*Not so simple

Marjorie Rigby has been living the life of a female singer in the 1930's. She travels all around the world and let's her beautiful voice sing for the millions of people who adore her. She has the latest styles in fashion, the latest hairstyles, and even the latest musician for a boyfriend. With all that and more, Marjorie isn't happy. She has traveled and seen most of the world and has done many things that not everyone can do. Throughout her career, Marjorie has yearned to do one thing: to be a Jazz Musician.

Marjorie spent countless nights in the most upbeat Jazz bars and have always wanted to play one of those instruments. She wanted to dance and sing alongside her fellow jazz members. To persue her dream, Marjorie settles down in New Orleans to start a new life, to start the life that she has always wanted.

Going from rich to poor, Marjorie finds that maybe her life in New Orleans isn't so simply. Knowing all she had to do was pick up her phone and press a button to get it all back, Marjorie comes at a crossroads with her life. It was either the dream she's always wanted or the expensive life of her singing career. She had one choice and along the way, she learns that it's not so simple.

Submitted:Jul 8, 2011
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I was in Paris,
France and the stage was all mine. The audience was cheering as I
finish my last song. I looked out, the lights blinding me and I
became sad. Ever since I was a girl I watched my mother walk the
wooden planks of countless stages. I thought that I wanted the
same thing but as I come along on my own, I realized that this is
not what I want. I look at the smiling fans. They all adored me
but they had no reason to. I was a lie and a phony.

I walked back to my
hotel room and take a seat on my bed. I opened up the blinders on
the glass windows and I look out. I remembered when my mother
would tell me all these crazy stories. At the time, I thought all
her stories were crazy but as I got older I noticed that her
stories weren't so silly after all. My mother's name was Margie
Rigby. When I was seven, when my mother first started singing,
she told me that we would have to move. She said to me,
"Marjorie, now I know that you are a smart girl and you'll make
it as good as I ever will. I'm sorry to tell you that school for
you is a no go." At the time, I was a little confused. She saw my
expression and explained it to me. She said that I wasn't going
to go to school anymore, that I was being home
schooled.

I walked around
saying all of the big folks words and sometimes, when I was
angry, I stooped down to their level and started to use slang. My
mother did not like me to use slang so I tried not to use it.
When I was home schooled, my teachers taught me the proper way to
speak.

"Slang is for the
poor folks, for the unfortunate." Mr. Ray said to me one
day.

"But Mr. Ray, aren't
we poor, mama and I?" I asked him.

"Marjorie," He took a
big breath. "You and your mother is not as poor as you think.
When your mom starts singing, you won't be poor
anymore."

"But we are poor
now," I argued.

"Don't worry about
the now, Marjorie." Mr. Ray became flustered. "Worry about your
future. You won't ever get anywhere speaking all that
slang."

"Okay," I said and I
looked down to my little feet. "Mr. Ray?"

"Yes, Marjorie," He
answered.

"Sometimes you speak
slang so how come I can't?" I asked.

"Marjorie, slang is
in my nature. I was born with it." He said. "Some people don't
fully grow out of it."

"Will I be like those
people?" I asked.

"Naw, Marjorie." He
laughed. "You are going to grow up to be a proper
lady."

"I will?" I
asked.

" 'Course you
will."

Over the years that
Mr. Ray taught me, he became my favorite teacher. Mr. Ray was a
smart man. I never wanted any other teacher unless it was Mr.
Ray. Mr. Ray was what they call an abercrombie, a know it all. He
knew things from science to English and he taught me every last
thing. Mr. Ray could have been my father.

"Marjorie," I heard a
knock on the door.

"Who's there?" I
called.

"It's
Roy!"

Roy was a very good
friend of mine. I have known Roy for two years now and we have
been datin' for only one. My mother always wanted me to date a
man like Roy. He was a good looking man and he had a very nice
smile. When I first met Roy, I was smitten. I thought he had been
the nicest thing since I came into my career. He had been the
nicest person until I got to know him. Roy was one of those stuck
up rich men and I didn't like it none. Sometimes it makes me mad
just thinkin' about him. Although Roy may have been stuck up, he
had a nice side. When Roy was nice, he put on his charming smile
and said the nicest things. That's the part I liked most about
Roy: his nice side.

"Hi, Roy." I greet
him and take in his usual wear. Roy was wearing a nice black suit
with his matching top hat. Sometimes I wish that Roy would dress
a little more exotic. He was too clean for my taste but that's
okay too.

"Marjorie," He said.
"You look well."

"Thank you, Roy." I
said.

"You ready?" He
asked.

"I am."

Roy and I walked off
together, skippin' down the steps of the hotel. My arm was in his
and as we walked into one of my favorite french bars, I saw
everyone smile. It was the usual thing. I was famous all around
Europe and if I knew anything it was that no matter what you said
or did around here, you were always praised for your actions. I
smiled at everyone as Roy took us to our table. Roy sat with me
for a few minutes before heading to the bar. Roy could never seem
to spend an entire night at the table side but I could not help
but feel relieved.

I looked onto that
glorious stage in which I once stood. It was a few nights ago
when I sang a song with Josephine Baker. She was the nicest thing
ever and she had a beautiful voice as well as a beautiful face.
After singing our duet together, we danced to a little jazz
music. It was a night to remember.

I see all of the jazz
musicians take their places. They never brought any sheets with
them on stage. They had everything memorized. I watched the small
clarinet player get to his left and then I saw the piano player
take his seat. The last two who came out was my favorites: the
trumpet and the saxophone players. I smiled big and cheered them
on with the crowd. They had the most beautiful
sound.

The musicians played
five little pieces. The last one was my favorite. They had two
trumpet and saxophone solos and I jumped like a hooligan when
they finished. Boy, I just couldn't get enough of them. I yearned
so badly to be on that stage. Imagine that, me a saxophone
player. I would truly be living my dream. After the band had
finished, the restaurant started to play a few recorded tapes.
They were all jazz. I walked to the bar to find
Roy.

"Roy, would you like
to come dance with me," I offered him.

"Not now, Marjorie,"
He shooed me away.

"Well fine," I was
angry now. "Don't come gettin' mad at me when I am dancin' with
someone else."

I stomped off and
went to find another man to dance with.

"Marjorie?" I heard
someone say.

"My name is Leroy
Cadet and I overheard your conversation." He said.

"Oh, well I'm sorry
you had to hear that Mr. Cadet." I said.

"Please call me
Leroy," He insisted.

"Well alright then,
Leroy." I smiled.

"Would you care to
dance?" He asked.

"I sure would," I
took his hand and pulled him to the floor.

For the rest of the
night I danced all night long with Leroy. He may have been a
stranger but he knew how to do those moves. We were kickin' our
feet and swingin' our hips about. That music was beautiful and so
was this night. Roy oughtta be ashamed of himself. He's missin'
out. I forgot about Roy and just danced. Leroy turned out to be a
better dancer anyway.

******

Leroy walked me to my
hotel room door and I thanked him for the night. I stepped inside
my room and turned on the lights. I suddenly saw Roy sittin' in a
chair in front of me. I was speechless, not scared. He has no
right being here no matter what he is to me.

"What are you doing?"
I asked.

"You's a brodie," He
said.

"I am not a mistake,
Roy." I said with an angry tone. "Stop talking all that
slang!"

"Marjorie, what were
you doing dancin' with the poor folk?" He asked angrily. "He's
nothin' but a crumb."

"Leroy is not poor."
I said. "And please, Roy, stop using all that slang! You are
supposed to be better than that. You were raised
differently."

"No matter how I was
raised Marjorie," Roy stood to his feet. "You know just as well
as I do that the man you were dancin' with was
poor."

"He was wearin'
clothes just as good as you." I crossed my arms over my chest and
looked away.

"You are only lookin'
on the outside, Marjorie."

"Well I don't know
him none." I waved my hands in the air with fury. "Roy, leave
right now."

"Well I don't care.
You is a squat Marjorie," It was clear as day when Roy started
walking that he was as drunk as a hog. No wonder he was talking
all that nonsense.

"Roy, I don't want
you to come back." I said. And I meant it.

"Stop talking nuts,
Marjorie." He laughed.

"I'm serious, Roy.
I'm planning on leaving soon anyway."

"Marjorie, I'm sorry.
Forgive me." He pleaded with me.

"Roy, I'm not sure
you are gonna like where I'm going anyway." I looked at
Roy.

"And where is that?"
He asked.

"Well I'm thinkin'
New Orleans." I walked towards my bedroom window.

"New Orleans? Why?"
Roy asked.

"I want to pursue my
dream and start anew." I smiled at the thought.

"That's a stupid
thing, Marjorie. Starting new is for crumbs. Something you
ain't." Funny, he called me a crumb earlier.

"It doesn't matter,
Roy." I looked him in the eye. "Good-bye, Roy."

"Marjorie, what if I
come with you?" He was begging now. Sometimes that boy doesn't
know when to let go.

"What are you gonna
do the whole time?" I asked.

"Well I can just keep
you company. I'll buy you a home and everything." He
smiled.

"That would be nice,
Roy." I said walking to the door. "If you want to come with me,
then come."

"When are you
leaving?"

"Saturday."

****

This next morning, I
thought it was time to see my mother before I left. I drove all
the way down to the nursing how and walked through the hallways.
Since I was the usual visitor, the workers let me in right away.
I knocked on my mama's door and waited to hear an answer. I heard
my mother grunt a "C'mon in" and I smiled to myself. It was nice
hearing her voice again.

I slowly opened the
door and saw my mom laying down on her bed. She had a small bed
but her small body fit perfectly with it. It was just the right
size and I'm glad that she has a place to sleep. Ever since she
stopped singing, she hadn't had the best time makin' money. Now,
she was gettin' too old to work and that's why she is in this
nursing home. I looked at my mother. Her eyes were closed and it
made me wonder if she was sleepin'.

"I know it's you,
Marjorie." I heard her whisper.

"Hi, mama, how are
you?" I laughed.

"Well I am just
fine," She sat up on her bed.

"That's always good,
mama." I walked over and sat in a chair next to her bed. My
mother grabbed my hand and held it with a tight
grip.

"Yes it is," She
smiled. For a moment, my mother just stared at me in awe and I
knew what she must have been thinkin'.

"You know, Marjorie,"
She began. "You look so much like your pa."

I looked down to our
hands together. I remember my daddy like he was still here. I
remember when me and my daddy use to play outside all day and
when I came home from school, he was always there. Whenever I
had a bad day, my daddy always knew how to make me laugh. Not
only was my father good for laughs, but he always gave me advice.
Somtimes, his advice was better than mama's and that's really
sayin' something.

When I was six years
old, almost seven, my father was put on trial. At first I didn't
know why, I just knew that he was goin' to jail. I remember
watchin' my daddy get handcuffed and taken away from me and my
mama. I was so scared. My mama told me that my daddy was being
put on trial for something he didn't do. When I asked what it
was, she hesitated to tell me.

"Marjorie, the police
think your father killed someone." She said slowly.

"Why would daddy do
somethin' like that?" I asked.

"He didn't." She
answered in a quiet tone. "The police thinks he
did."

"But why?" I didn't
understand.

"I don't know why,
Marjorie."

A few months later, I
heard that my daddy had been lynched. My father was never a
guilty man and I knew he could never hurt a fly. At first, I was
angry and upset but then my mama said somethin' to me that I knew
I could never forget. She said, "Marjorie, it doesn't matter what
everyone else thinks. What matters is what you think and what you
know about your father. He's a good man, Marjorie. He's a good
man." She gave me a hug after that and I remembered that ever
since.

"You use to say that
everyday, mama." I looked at her.

"Yes I did." She
looked towards her feet. "It's unfortunate what they did to
him."

"I know mama. That
was back then though." I smiled big. I didn't want no tears on
this day.

"Yea, it was." She
looked towards me again. "So what brings you to see me,
Marjorie."

"Well mama," I began.
"Tomorrow, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" She looked
like she just lost all her breath. "Where are you
going?"

"New Orleans." I
answered with pride.

"For
what?"

"I'm gonna get the
dream I've always wanted, mama." I smiled. "Even if that means
startin' all over and livin' poor."

"Before I was placed
in here, I would have said no way," She started. "But now, I'm
happy for you."

I gave my mother a
hug and left the nursing home. I left with a smile and happiness
in my heart. I knew my mother would understand, or rather I hoped
she would. I walked with a bounce as I made my way to my hotel
room. I did not want to wait another day but I was gonna have to.
As I stepped inside, I finished packing the rest of my items. I
put the last piece of clothing away and sat on my bed, thinking
about my father.

"I love you too,
pa."

Authors Note:
This use to be a novel but I don't see me getting anywhere with
this so I made it into a short story! It's not complete yet, so
my apologies. There will be a little bit more to it. ANyway. I
hope you enjoy what you have read and hopefully you'll still like
it. Some don't, that's okayy. Have a good one Booksie! ^0^
-Zarah!